


Could I have this dance forever?

by Qwertzu



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Afterlife, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Character Death, Confident Katsuki Yuuri, Dancer Victor Nikiforov, Eros Katsuki Yuuri, Ghosts, Happy Ending, M/M, Vampirism, Youkai, Yuki Onna, reverse au of saniika's yuki onna au, smitten married Viktuuri, technically, this fic isn't out to hurt you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 03:34:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13115112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qwertzu/pseuds/Qwertzu
Summary: Viktor opened his eyes two days later to find a healer fussing over him. They kept asking him what had happened but he couldn’t remember. He only had a vague recollection of a scary dream where he had danced with a ghost. Strangely enough, the only thing he could recall clearly was its warning –you will never speak of this night to anyone.In the end, someone came up with a plausible theory that Viktor must have heard the door open and come down to investigate. He had probably surprised a horse thief who assaulted him and fled, leaving him lying unconscious on the barn floor. (It didn’t explain why Viktor had been found barefooted. Or why his previously blond hair had inexplicably turned grey. But it certainly sounded saner and more believable than dancing in the air for hours with a preternatural bloodthirsty beauty.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Saniika](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saniika/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Frozen](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11591601) by [Saniika](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saniika/pseuds/Saniika). 



The dance ensemble bowed as the audience applauded. Viktor put a charming smile on his face as he looked through the crowd of lords and ladies. He briefly caught Yakov’s eye. His teacher nodded at him, satisfied with the performance. Viktor waited for the rush of elation he used to experience after a flawless dance like this. Once again it didn’t come, leaving him with a hollow ache in his chest. He missed the feeling. He missed loving to dance.

One more bow, and half of the dancers left to sit down and have a drink. Viktor stayed behind with the other half, as their task tonight was to ensure the dance floor never remained empty. Chris wrapped an arm around his waist as the musicians started playing a cheerful tune. Viktor smiled at his friend and let the music sweep him along, absently looking into the distance over his partner’s shoulder without really seeing anything... until he accidentally met a pair of dark eyes in the crowd that nearly made him stumble. He recovered immediately but Chris noticed, of course, and raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“Who is that?” Viktor asked.

“The dark skinned beauty? That would be Prince Phichit Chulanont of Siam, the guest of honour.”

Viktor knew better than to shake his head while dancing. “Not him. The man next to him.”

“I believe that’s Lord Katsuki, a good friend of his highness. Caught your attention, did he? Not that I blame you...”

“Chris!” Viktor hissed before his dance partner spun him around.

“What?” Chris caught him and smoothly led him to a dip. “You have his attention too, you know. He’s been watching you all evening.”

“Really?”

Could it be true? Viktor couldn’t deny he wanted it to be. But why would a lord waste his attention on a mere dancer? _Wishful thinking._ Besides, staring was rude, no matter how attractive Viktor found him, butterflies in his stomach be damned. He forbade himself to look in that direction. Yet his eyes kept straying to the dark haired lord, as if pulled by an invisible force. There was something about him, something strangely familiar, though Viktor would swear they had never met before. He would never forget someone like Lord Katsuki.

The night dragged on. Viktor kept an insincere smile on his face as he danced with various lords and ladies, unable to refuse. He listened to their compliments on his skill and complimented them in return, not meaning a single word.

Much to his regret, Lord Katsuki didn’t ask him for a dance.

When the rest of his ensemble came back from their break for the final group dance, Viktor heaved a sigh of relief. It was nearing midnight, he was tired and sweaty and absolutely parched. He looked forward to sitting down. Just one last dance. Falling in line with his fellow dancers he waited for the second row to form. Much to their shock, Prince Phichit decided to join them. The dance was a fairly complicated one—fast-paced, with frequent changes of partners and need for coordination—Viktor hadn’t expected someone like his royal highness to know it. His eyes unwittingly searched for Lord Katsuki but the man was nowhere to be seen. And then the music started and Viktor was moving. He absently noticed Prince Phichit was a great dancer but he was too busy focusing on the dance to ponder over it. He bowed to Georgi, changed places with Pyotr, offered his hand to Katya and spun her around, turned to face Alexei... They all moved like clockwork. Viktor had seen this dance from above—a truly impressive sight, reminiscent of a controlled chaos. Finally, the song was nearing the end. He turned to Mila, lifted her effortlessly and turned around to hand her over to Misha. He swung back and reached out with his left hand, not expecting anyone to take it, as the addition of the Prince made their number odd. But instead of empty air, he touched another hand.

It was the hand of Lord Katsuki. Viktor’s breath hitched in his throat at suddenly finding those intense brown eyes so close to him. He only had the years of training to thank for keeping him moving, because his mind went inconveniently blank—at least until he heard the last tones of the melody and abruptly remembered that this particular dance was supposed to end in a kiss. Inwardly, he panicked. He couldn’t just _kiss_ Lord Katsuki! He wasn’t allowed to even speak to him unless the lord addressed him first! Should he kiss his hand? But how? Their hands would be behind their back! Should he kiss his cheek instead? Should he imply a kiss without actually making contact? Should he just bow? Should he— And then it was too late. With the last note Viktor’s body leaned forward before he realized what he was doing and stopped himself, freezing mid-motion. Lord Katsuki solved his dilemma by meeting him half-way and pressing his lips against Viktor’s delicately. It was a soft, chaste peck that ended too quickly but left Viktor tingling all over. They stared into each other’s eyes until the applause faded and the musicians started playing a new song. Lord Katsuki put his hands on Viktor’s shoulders, wordlessly demanding a dance. (Now _that_ was a request Viktor wouldn’t refuse even if he could.)

“What’s your name?” Lord Katsuki asked, with just a hint of exotic accent.

“Viktor Alexandrovich Nikiforov, my lord.”

“Viktor.” Somehow, the dancer had never thought the name his parents gave him was beautiful until he heard Lord Katsuki say it. “You may call me Yuuri.”

The permission set Viktor’s heart aflutter. He forgot all about his tiredness and thirst, too lost in feeling _alive_. Being a dancer by trade, Viktor had danced with countless partners over the years—yet it suddenly occurred to him he had been doing it wrong all his life because it had never felt anything like _this._ To say Lord Katsuki—Yuuri—was skilled would be an understatement. Never before had Viktor moved in such a perfect harmony with his dance partner. It was as if the young aristocrat was reading his mind.

Time lost its meaning.

At some point, the music changed. They flawlessly adjusted to the new melody, reluctant to part with each other.

At some point, Yuuri took the lead. He led with confidence and gracefulness and Viktor was happy to follow.

At some point, they became the only pair on the dance floor, all eyes on them. And then Yuuri finished their endless dance by dramatically leading Viktor into a final dip. He looked into Viktor’s eyes and smiled. It was a smile filled with mischief and seduction—and just like that, Viktor’s heart was stolen to the sound of a thunderous applause.

...

The invitation to their wedding six months later didn’t come as a surprise to anyone who had witnessed that night.

 

* * *

 

Whoever said that marriage was the surest way of ruining a relationship, they had Viktor’s pity. Obviously they had never met someone as perfect as Yuuri. Almost three years ago, Yuuri had danced his way into Viktor’s life and made Viktor the happiest man in the world. Being married to him for little over two years had done nothing to change that. Viktor still loved his husband with all his heart, Yuuri’s peculiarities included. And his beloved certainly _was_ peculiar. For example, Yuuri was the only person Viktor knew who didn’t appreciate a nice hot bath after a strenuous day. Quite the contrary—he disliked hot water, open fire and too much warmth in general. Then again, Yuuri’s tolerance for cold put even Russians to shame. Viktor often wondered if his beloved wore a fur cloak for the sole purpose of bundling up Viktor in it whenever he shivered. Not that he was complaining; it made him feel treasured. Sometimes, like tonight, as he stood on the balcony looking at the darkening sky in silent wonder, he almost expected to wake up and realise it had all been but a beautiful dream.

A nudge on his leg pulled him away from his musings. He smiled at Makkachin and crouched down to pet her.

“Enjoyed your walk?” he asked, playfully ruffling her ears.

Of course she did. The garden was huge and had plenty of trees for Makka to mark as her territory—a major improvement compared to their previous living conditions. The mansion was a wedding gift from a very enthusiastic Phichit, who would hear none of their protests. And yes, Viktor now counted His Royal Highness Prince Phichit Chulanont of Siam among his friends. What an unpredictable twist of fate for a poor orphan who used to dance on the streets!

He still danced, living his dream. Yuuri had reawakened his passion for the art, and caused a major scandal allowing Viktor—who was now Lord Katsuki-Nikiforov—to keep dancing with his ensemble. Viktor adored how Yuuri had dismissed the high society’s indignation with a pointed ‘Have you _seen_ my husband dance?’ and became the ensemble’s patron.

“Vitya, are you ready?” And there, standing in the doorway, was the subject of thoughts, looking absolutely stunning in his black attire with asymmetrically placed crystals and skirt-like flap.

Viktor’s mouth went dry. He had no memory of standing up and moving but he must have done so because the next thing he knew, he was wrapping his arms around Yuuri possessively.

His husband clearly recognised the look in Viktor’s eyes because he pressed his fingers against Viktor’s chest to stop him. “We’ll be late.”

(To be fair, it wouldn’t be the first time. When Viktor saw his husband-to-be in his wedding attire, he pressed Yuuri against the wall and proceeded to kiss him breathless. One thing led to another, and he made them almost half an hour late to their own wedding ceremony. Then again, when Yuuri saw Viktor let his hair down to brush and re-braid it before a performance, Viktor ended up missing the rehearsal and barely making it to the stage on time.)

“You’re so cruel to me, love! How can I keep my hands to myself all evening when you look so...” he waved his hand, words failing him.

Yuuri pressed a quick kiss on his cheek. “It’s just a few hours,” he soothed. “I promise that if you behave, you’ll be allowed to look and touch all you want when we come home.”

It was that promise that gave him the strength to put one foot in front of the other and follow Yuuri to their carriage.

“These clothes really suit you,” Viktor noted appreciatively.

“Then why are you looking at me like you want to disrobe me?” Yuuri teased.

 _Guilty as charged._ “Mhm, maybe it’s because nakedness suits you too.”

Their agreement had been that Viktor would behave once they got to the theatre—at least that’s how Viktor decided to interpret it. After all, Yuuri had said nothing about kissing in the carriage on the way there. Or touching. Or groping, for that matter.

They managed to arrive looking mostly presentable, if slightly dishevelled. (Yuuri had to re-braid Viktor’s hair, much to Viktor’s delight. He loved it when Yuuri played with his hair.)

The theatre had been a gift from Yuuri to Viktor, so that his ensemble had a better place to stay, perform and rehearse. Unsurprisingly, the area surrounding the building was deserted, as there was no performance planned for tonight. What did surprise Viktor as he entered was that even the inside of the theatre seemed empty. The corridor was lit but it was unusually quiet. Unsure what was going on, they proceeded upstairs to the main dance studio. He gripped the handle and the door creaked open.

Several voices _shrieked_ in terror.

Viktor almost jumped back in shock. He didn’t see Yuuri move but in a blink of an eye his husband was standing in front of him protectively, tense and ready to fight.

They took in the scene before them. The room was dark, illuminated only by a single candle placed on the ground. Everyone was sitting in a circle around it, like children during story time. Several people were clutching their chests and glaring at Viktor with Yuuri, others were shaking with barely suppressed laughter. There was no sign of danger anywhere.

“What are you doing?” Yuuri asked, relaxing as he walked in, Viktor in tow.

“Telling scary stories!” Phichit declared cheerfully. The prince had quickly befriended the entire ensemble with his easy-going nature and bright smiles. “It’s the All Hallows’ Eve! You know, Samhain?” he added when he saw Yuuri’s confused expression. “The time of the year when the border between the worlds is thin and ghosts and fairies can enter our world or pull you into theirs? A night like this is _made_ for spooky stories!”

“Phichit,” Yuuri said sternly as he settled down on one of the cushions that had clearly been prepared for them, “if you try to summon another fire demon—”

The prince raised his hands placatingly. “No summoning. I’ve learned my lesson!” he assured Yuuri.

Viktor turned to his love expectantly. “I haven’t heard about that?”

“It’s not important,” Yuuri said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“I’ll tell you when it’s my turn!” Phichit promised with a wink.

“I’m looking forward to hearing it! Whose turn is it now?” he asked eagerly.

“Yours, actually, since you sat down next to Alexei,” Mila informed him.

 _Oh._ “But... I don’t know any scary stories?”

A decorative pillow hit him in the chest, the air flow from the throw almost extinguishing the candle flame. “Just make something up, moron!” Yuri, the newest addition to their ranks, huffed at him.

Clutching the pillow to his chest with one hand, Viktor tapped at his lip thoughtfully. “Oh, I know! There’s this scary dream I once had...”

“That will do,” Misha nodded at him encouragingly.

“Alright. So,” Viktor took a breath, “remember that time four years ago when that inn burned down?” Come to think of it, it was exactly four years to the day. He realised there were people in the room who hadn’t been with them at the time, and started over. “We were travelling to perform at the royal court. After riding all day we finally came to the village where we were supposed to spend the night—only to find out that the inn and the surrounding houses had caught fire earlier that day. All that remained were smoking ruins. The villagers were unable to shelter us, as they were already accommodating the families whose houses had burned down...”

 

**_Four years ago..._ **

They were helpless. They couldn’t simply turn around and go back, nor could they proceed forward. Only a fool would risk travelling through the woods in the dark. The night was falling and they would probably freeze to death if they remained outside. Finally, Yakov had convinced one of the farmers to at least let them stay in the barn.

The barn was spacious and smelled of hay, but Viktor hardly cared, too tired and sore to even think. He climbed the ladder, found a nice nook, spread the blanket the villagers had given him on the hay, and fell asleep the moment he closed his eyes.

He wasn’t sure what woke him up. All he could hear were the quiet snores of his fellow dancers. Yet there was this incessant, nagging feeling that something was _wrong._ Viktor dismissed it as the last remnants of a bad dream he couldn’t remember and settled back down to sleep. Before he could fully embrace the dream world again, he heard the barn door open with an ominous creak. _It was probably the wind,_ he told himself, determined to ignore it.

Somewhere down below, a horse let out a nervous scoff. Viktor frowned. It was freezing outside. He couldn’t let the poor animals suffer in the cold while he was comfortably burrowed in a bubble of warmth! With a sigh he forced his complaining, aching body to sit. His shoes were lined up next to him, within arm’s reach. Someone, probably Yakov, must have pulled them off his feet because Viktor had no memory of doing it himself. He slipped them on without bothering to properly tie them and stood, hissing in pain. His legs were burning from long hours of riding. There was no trace of his usual dancer’s grace in the way he sauntered to the ladder and climbed down, wincing on every step. It seemed like a small eternity before he finally descended. Heaving a sigh of relief and already dreading having to climb back, he turned around and took a step towards the door.

He did not expect to find someone standing in the sliver of moonlight coming from the open door. The person—Viktor wasn’t sure if it was a man or a woman—had long flowing dark hair, sharply contrasting with their unnaturally pale, almost glowing complexion. Their features were exotic, oriental, matched by their unusual snow white attire. Overall, their beauty was breath-taking.

Viktor opened his mouth to ask what they were doing in the barn but no sound left his throat. The person glided closer—Viktor noticed their feet didn’t touch the ground. The feeling of wrongness suddenly intensified and all his instincts screamed at him to _run._ And run he wanted to but his limbs wouldn’t move. All he could do was stand there, petrified, as the ghost reached out to touch his cheek with icy cold fingers.

 _‘You should have stayed asleep,’_ it said—or at least that was what Viktor heard in his head. He was fairly certain the words which the being’s lips shaped weren’t Russian. It studied him for a while with curiosity. _‘You’re a dancer, aren’t you?’_ Viktor nodded, unable to do anything else. _‘Dance for me if you want to live.’_ And with that, the being released him from its spell.

He still couldn’t talk but he could now move. Unfortunately, the only way out was through the open door—and that meant around the ghost.

 _‘Don’t even think about it,’_ the apparition warned, narrowing its eyes in displeasure.

Viktor decided it would be best not to provoke it and raised his hands in surrender. Apparently satisfied for now, it glided back, either to give Viktor room to dance or to guard the door; most likely both.

Maybe, if it liked Viktor’s dance, it would keep its word and not kill him? Or maybe, if he kept its attention for long enough, someone would wake up and come down to help him? But deep down, Viktor knew his feeble hope was futile. Something told him the ghost might simply kill anyone who came to the rescue. Viktor wondered if he would live to see the sun rise.

...At least he got to dance once last time.

He took a deep breath and forced his protesting body through a series of basic stretches. It hurt but he needed to. The being watched him with something akin to compassion. It waved its hand, and Viktor found himself surrounded with a bluish glow. When the glow faded, he felt light as a feather. Nothing hurt. He didn’t feel tired, sore, hungry or cold. Quite the opposite, actually—he felt like could fly. He looked at the ghost, surprised and grateful.

 _‘Dance,’_ it demanded.

And toeing off his boots, Viktor obeyed. He didn’t have as much room as he would have liked but he had made do with smaller spaces before. The dance he chose was the one he was meant to perform at the court in three days—yet here he was, in a barn in the middle of nowhere, performing it for the ghostly audience of one, most likely about to die soon. Halfway through, it dawned on him that he didn’t want to spend the possibly last minutes of his life dancing something that had been choreographed for him. If he was to die, he might as well give it his all.

Disregarding the choreography, Viktor danced his heart out. He danced about his hopes and dreams, about his loneliness, about the love and life he had been neglecting for almost twenty years... And much to his shock, the being joined him. It didn’t quite copy Viktor’s movements, it complemented them. As if it could hear the song Viktor was dancing to—which was impossible because Viktor wasn’t even imagining any music. It reached out and Viktor took its hand. He gasped in delight as his feet left the ground. They kept dancing, twirling around in the air, and Viktor had never felt so free. He danced, chasing and being chased, eyes shining, genuinely enjoying himself. There was a small smile on the ghost’s lips too.

All too soon, it was over. Viktor noticed in silent disbelief that it was almost dawn as they floated back down. It felt like minutes! But the moment his feet touched the barn floor again he almost keeled over from exhaustion. Suddenly it was no longer hard to believe he had danced the night away because he now felt every minute of it. The ghost caught him with steadying hands.

 _‘That was lovely,’_ it said, and while Viktor had received countless compliments during his career, this simple comment, coming from a being who danced like it had known Viktor all his life, made his heart flutter with pride. _‘You are incredibly talented; it would be a shame to end your life. I won’t kill you but you will never speak of this night to anyone. Do you swear, human?’_

Almost dizzy with tiredness, Viktor nodded, too busy breathing to even attempt to speak. The ghost gripped his chin with surprisingly gentle fingers and turned his head to the side. It tugged at Viktor’s tunic, exposing his neck and shoulder. Viktor shivered as it breathed in his scent and rested its cold lips against his skin. An unexpected stab of pain made him flinch as sharp teeth broke the skin at the base of his neck. The being swallowed a mouthful of his blood and pain suddenly faded, washed away by ecstasy. Clutching at the being’s back Viktor felt like he was drowning in pleasure. Colours became unnaturally bright, until they blended into white, which turned to black as darkness swallowed him.

...

Viktor opened his eyes two days later to find a healer fussing over him. They kept asking him what had happened but he couldn’t remember. He only had a vague recollection of a scary dream where he had danced with a ghost. Strangely enough, the only thing he could recall clearly was its warning – _you will never speak of this night to anyone._

In the end, someone came up with a plausible theory that Viktor must have heard the door open and come down to investigate. He had probably surprised a horse thief who assaulted him and fled, leaving him lying unconscious on the barn floor. (It didn’t explain why Viktor had been found barefooted. Or why his previously blond hair had inexplicably turned grey. But it certainly sounded saner and more believable than dancing in the air for hours with a preternatural bloodthirsty beauty.)


	2. Chapter 2

“Do you have a death wish?” Yuri demanded to know, astonished. “Why the hell did you tell us?”

“Yura, it was only a dream,” Viktor soothed. “It wasn’t real. Besides, if the ghost comes for me, I’m sure my Yuuri will protect me. Won’t you, sunshine?”

But Yuuri didn’t smile at Viktor in reassurance. He stared into the candle flame, lost in thought, his face filled with sorrow.

“Yuuri?”

“Once upon a time, in a kingdom far far away, there lived a boy,” Yuuri began his story quietly, keeping his gaze on the candle, “who dreamed of becoming a famous dancer. What an odd ambition for him to have, given that being in the centre of attention terrified him. Yet he craved it. He longed for the crowds to look at him with respect and adoration.

One day the boy, who was now a young man, received an invitation to dance at a banquet organised by an important lord. If the lord liked his performance, chances were he would be invited to dance at the imperial court. He was both nervous and excited about it. But stars weren’t kind to him that day. His beloved dog died on the morn of the banquet. When the time came for him to dance, he couldn’t become one with the music—he could barely force his limbs to move.

Needless to say, it was the worst performance of his life. Heart breaking, he fled the moment the music faded. He cared not where he ran, as long as it was away from the banquet, away from the pain. He ran through the snow-covered field, unaware that the snow was hiding a frozen lake. The last thing he heard was a sinister crack of the ice breaking. The lake claimed his body but he didn’t truly die—instead, winter magic claimed his soul and turned him into a snow spirit.

For many years he wandered the world, aimless and unfeeling. He fed on blood of the living to sustain his existence. He didn’t care much about humans; he preferred the company of wild beasts.

One year, winter came unexpectedly early and animals, unprepared for the sudden cold, were forced to stray closer to the village in search of food. The snow spirit followed them. From afar he heard village girls talk about a great fire and dancers that were supposed to spend the night in the town but he paid them no mind. Dancing had long ago lost its charm for him.

That night he needed to feed. He could feel many heartbeats in the barn, some of them not human. He decided that a horse would do. The barn door let out a loud creak as the snow spirit pulled it open. Almost instantly, one of the heartbeats changed—a human had woken up. The snow spirit waited for them to fall back asleep but they didn’t. Instead, a young man slowly descended the ladder, clearly intending to shut the door. The snow spirit recognised a dancer’s bearing when he saw one, and on a whim he asked the man to dance for him in exchange for his life.

And dance the human did, fluid and graceful unlike anyone the snow spirit had ever seen. Something about the dance tugged at the snow spirit’s heart, and for the first time in many years he was overcome with feelings. He remembered the joy dancing used to bring him, his family’s quiet encouragement, his teacher’s proud smiles. He remembered his dog and found that the once blinding pain had faded to a dull ache. Before he realised what he was doing, he joined the human. They danced the night away. When dawn came, he spared the human’s life—under the condition that he would never speak of that night.

Yet, four years later, wanting to impress his friends, the human foolishly broke his oath. The next morning they found him dead—drained of blood and frozen to the bone.”

There was silence as Yuuri finished his story. Several dancers visibly shuddered, Viktor among them. He knew Yuuri was joking but... Something about the way he’d told that story felt... personal.

“That,” Alexei said in a whisper, “was genuinely _scary._ ” Viktor fully agreed with him.

For some reason, Phichit drew Yuuri into a bone-crushing embrace, whispering something in a language Viktor didn’t understand.

“Well, I don’t know about you guys but I don’t feel like listening to spooky stories anymore. How about we get some food?” Misha suggested, immediately seconded by everyone except for the two best friends who seemed lost in their own world.

Yuuri stayed with Phichit for the rest of the evening, ignoring everything else. When it was time for them to leave, Viktor was aghast at the glare Phichit gave him before reluctantly releasing Yuuri from his arms. _Why?_ What had Viktor done to deserve it? Worst of all, Yuuri wouldn’t even look at him. They spent the ride back in tense silence, looking out the window.

 

* * *

 

Viktor heaved a sigh of relief when the bedroom door finally closed behind them. Yuuri stood facing the balcony, unmoving. Viktor took a step towards his husband, halting when he saw Yuuri’s shoulders stiffen.

“Yuuri,” he said gently, determined to find out what was wrong.

“Why?” Yuuri asked. The question was filled with so much sadness it tore at Viktor’s heart. _‘Why did you have to break your promise?’_

That voice... Viktor recognised that voice and felt a shiver run down his spine. Yuuri finally turned around, pale-skinned and long-haired, his glowing eyes cold as ice. Now that Viktor saw him again, he couldn’t understand how he could ever miss the obvious resemblance.

“Yuuri—”

Apparently that was a wrong thing to say. Viktor found himself thrown against the wall and a moment later a cold hand gripped his throat. He realised that he was going to die. Thanks to Viktor’s own foolishness, Yuuri— _the snow spirit_ was going to kill him for real this time.

“I’m sorry,” he said while he still had air in his lungs.

 _‘You should be,’_ the ghost hissed, his grip tightening.

“I love you.” Viktor didn’t want to die without saying it one last time.

The ghost’s face blurred into Yuuri’s for a moment, a single tear sliding down his cheek. _‘I loved you too.’_ The hand on his throat squeezed ruthlessly.

 _Thank you_ , Viktor mouthed with his last strength. The world grew fuzzy around the edges.

Suddenly he was on the floor, gasping for air. He looked up in surprise.

_‘Why are you thanking me? Don’t think you can sweet-talk me out of killing you.’_

Viktor tried to speak, several times. Beautiful and deadly, the snow spirit waited patiently for him to catch his breath.

“I’m not... trying to... sweet-talk you.” He took in a few hungry gulps of air. “Read my mind.”

 _‘I can’t read minds,’_ the snow spirit raised an eyebrow condescendingly.

“Then how did you... How can you dance with me like you know what I’m thinking if you can’t read my mind?” The ghost stayed silent. “Perhaps you understand my heart. It doesn’t matter. Kill me if you must; I did break my promise. Just know that I love you and I’m grateful to you for the three most beautiful years of my life.”

Viktor saw something of his husband creep back into the icy cold eyes. He took a chance.

“Yuuri. Could I have one last dance before I die? I would like to dance with you like we did that night in the barn.”

The ghost regarded him for a while before nodding in consent. Viktor scrambled to his feet. Just like four years ago, Yuuri floated back to give him space and waved his hand, his magic once again making Viktor feel refreshed, warmed up and ready to dance. And just like four years ago, Viktor forgot about choreographies and danced his heart out. Yuuri watched him, still and hesitant to join. Viktor poured his feelings into his movements, wordlessly imploring his love to take his hand. And Yuuri did.

Like every time he danced with his husband, they became one. A single being with two bodies, moving its four legs with unprecedented grace. He felt a rush of elation when their feet left the floor. Being in the air gave them freedom the likes of which normal dancing could never hope to imitate. Safe in the knowledge that Yuuri’s magic wouldn’t let him fall, Viktor surrendered himself to the feeling and laughed with unrestrained delight. It was the last dance of his life and he fully intended to enjoy every second of it.

And enjoy it he did. They danced for an eternity—yet it was over in a blink. Unstoppable, the cruel sun rose on the horizon and marked the end of their time together. Yuuri floated them down, took Viktor’s face into his hands and kissed him like there was no tomorrow. There _wasn’t_ , not for Viktor anyway. They parted for air and Viktor missed Yuuri’s lips more than he missed breathing. The next thing he knew, there was a brief sting of pain emanating from his neck, and then his world disappeared in a tidal wave of pleasure. Viktor let himself drown in it.

 

* * *

 

“Lord Viktor! You’re awake!” a worried healer immediately appeared at his bedside, followed by Yakov.

He hadn’t expected to open his eyes again. He felt weak and his entire body ached.

“Vitya. What happened?”

He tried to answer but his memories were hazy.

“Where—” he trailed off. Speaking _hurt_.

They helped him sit and the healer handed him a cup. The drink smelled of herbs and did wonders to soothe his burning throat.

He tried to speak again. “Where’s Yuuri?”

Yakov shook his head. “Nobody has seen him since you returned from the theatre.”

 _Theatre._ Memories came rushing back. Yakov kept talking but Viktor wasn’t listening. _Yuuri had let him live._ Despite everything, Yuuri still loved him enough to spare his life.

“What are you doing, Vitya?” Yakov firmly pushed him back down as he tried to get up.

“ _Yuuri._ I must find Yuuri!” he struggled weakly against his teacher’s arms.

“Calm down. The guards are looking for him,” Yakov assured him.

“They won’t find him!” Why wasn’t Yakov listening? “I need to go after him!”

“You’re not going anywhere in this state, Viktor Alexandrovich. You can barely keep upright!”

“No, Yakov—You don’t understand. I must find Yuuri! You need to let me go,” he implored, griping Yakov’s arms.

“Vitya. You must rest.”

“ _Please._ I promise I’ll rest after. I’ll stay in bed all day! Just let me find him and bring him home,” he gave Yakov his best imitation of Makkachin’s puppy eyes.

“Alright,” Yakov caved in, “but I’m coming with you. The last thing we need is for you to pass out on the road.”

“Thank you, Yakov! You’re the best!”

“Yes, yes,” his teacher huffed at him. “Now stay in the bed while I pick your clothes. You must stay warm, it snowed all day yesterday. And here, drink this.”

Viktor didn’t question him. He took the offered glass and drank it all. Almost immediately, his mind felt like it was filled with cotton. He shot Yakov and the healer a betrayed look before his heavy eyelids fluttered shut and darkness swallowed him.

 

* * *

 

It was dark when he woke up again. He still felt somewhat weak and sore but considerably better than before. Pushing himself to sit, he blindly reached for the glass on his bedside table. His fingers fell short of their goal and brushed against a small hollow object. Viktor picked it up. He didn’t need moonlight to recognise it as a wedding ring. He didn’t need to look to know there was a half of a snowflake engraved on the inside. He didn’t need to check to understand it was Yuuri’s.

 _Yuuri wasn’t coming back._ The realisation almost crushed him. Viktor’s heart broke as he closed his fingers around it and pressed it against his lips. Yuuri had let him live but the price Viktor had to pay for it was never seeing his husband again. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want a life without his beloved. Blood drinking snow spirit or not, Yuuri was and would always be the love of his life. Stifling a sob, Viktor steeled his shoulders in determination. _No._ He refused to lose Yuuri forever. He would find his sunshine, apologise to him and beg him to return, or at least take Viktor with him. Yuuri hadn’t killed him. He still loved Viktor. Surely Viktor would be able to make him listen.

Firmly resolved, Viktor got up from the bed. He quickly gripped the bedside table and waited for the world to stop spinning. Much more careful now, he slowly put on his shoes and grabbed Yuuri’s fur cloak. At least now he knew for sure Yuuri only wore it to keep Viktor warm. The thought did little to comfort him but the familiar scent coming from it instantly soothed him. He buried his nose into the fur and breathed in their combined scents. They smelled right together. Wrapping himself in Yuuri’s cloak and his scent, Viktor quietly sneaked out of the house.

He headed for the forest, heedless of the snowdrifts, occasionally calling out Yuuri’s name and pleading for him to hear Viktor out. Silence was his answer. He walked until his legs couldn’t carry him anymore and his knees buckled. Sitting down on the cold ground Viktor closed his eyes for a moment. Just to gather his strength before pushing himself up to continue. He clutched Yuuri’s wedding ring to his chest and drifted off.

...

The gamekeepers found him passed out a few hours later. They took the young lord to their lodge, changed him into dry clothes and did their best to keep him warm. The local healer arrived quickly and looked at the patient with grim eyes. Delirious with fever, Lord Katsuki-Nikiforov kept calling for his husband. One of his hands was clutched in a fist and no power on Earth could force him to loosen his grip. Eventually, the healer had done all she could and it was up to the lord to fight for his life.

 

* * *

 

Viktor woke up feeling better than ever. He looked around the unfamiliar room in confusion. Was he in the gamekeeper’s lodge? He would have to thank them for sheltering him—after he found Yuuri, that is. Slipping out of the bed he easily found his way outside. He felt a tug at his heart and knew it would lead him to Yuuri. Wind blew his hair into his face and he pushed it away, not sparing his suddenly waist-long hair and his flowing white garb more than a confused thought. _He had to find Yuuri!_ His feet left the ground and, as if listening to his wishes, the wind rose and carried him towards his love.

A snowstorm raged on the clearing in the centre of the woods. Standing in the eye of it, facing away from Viktor, was Yuuri. His shoulders were slumped and Viktor could _feel_ his anguish and longing in the blizzard.

“Sunshine,” he whispered. Wind obediently carried his voice to Yuuri’s ears.

Yuuri whipped around. Just like that, the storm abated. He looked at Viktor with shock and regret written all over his face.

“Vityenka. You were supposed to live.”

It took a moment for the implication of Yuuri’s words to sink in but somehow, Viktor wasn’t surprised. He had intuitively known that he was no longer alive. Somehow, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that he had finally reunited with Yuuri.

“I wouldn’t want to live without you. Yuuri,” he floated closer to his husband, “please forgive me, love.” He reached out and opened his fist. Yuuri’s wedding ring glinted in the moonlight. “Stay close to me and never leave.”

Tears sliding down his cheek, Yuuri nodded and allowed Viktor to slip the ring on his finger, where it belonged. They fell into the kiss, clinging to each other desperately, finally feeling whole again. When they reluctantly parted, Yuuri put his hands on Viktor’s shoulders, like he had done three years ago at the banquet.

“Could I have this dance forever?”

 _Could I hold you for a lifetime?_  
_Could I look into your eyes?_  
_Could I have this night to share--this night together?_  
_Could I hold you close beside me?_  
_Could I hold you for all time?_  
_Could I? Could I? Could I have this kiss forever?_  
_Could I? Could I? Could I have this kiss forever? (Forever)_

There was only one answer to that. Heart filled with love and joy, Viktor said yes.

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, sanii ♡
> 
> (Writing this, the author has listened to "Just one last dance" and "Could I have this kiss forever" an inordinate number of times.)


End file.
